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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26764690">Andromedatober - Alone</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thirivm/pseuds/Thirivm'>Thirivm</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Andromeda Six (Visual Novel)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Andromedatober, Angst, Flashbacks, Gen, Sibling Love</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-10-02</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-10-02</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 03:00:34</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Not Rated</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,348</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26764690</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thirivm/pseuds/Thirivm</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Dymitri grits his teeth, sweat dripping down from his brow. His body is starting to tire, fists aching in protest with each new punch he throws against the hard leather bag. How long has he been at this? Hours now it felt like but he doesn’t care. The pain is a welcome thing, and besides, it pales in comparison to the hollow ache in his gut.</p>
<p>He doesn’t miss most of his family. Dad was a vicious prick, his mother and the other Queens were no better, and most of his conversations with his various siblings were usually some variation of him telling them to fuck off. No, he didn’t mourn them. Good riddance, in fact. But he mourned Nerissa..</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>7</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Andromedatober - Alone</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Warning for mild references to child abuse!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <hr/>
<p>His head hurts.</p>
<p>Dymitri tries to ignore the ache throbbing beneath his temples, instead focusing on putting all his strength behind the hard blows he’s landing on the punching bag in front of him. It’s a crude thing, made from a leather bag he’d rigged up earlier with some help from Bash, but it’s sturdy enough for him to take his growing frustrations out on. He doesn’t know how he feels yet; a mixture of anger, sorrow, and confusion have turned all his thoughts and emotions into a jumbled mess. </p>
<p>Instinct had told him not to follow after seeing that flash of red hair in the crowd of Oppo’s bar but he’d been stupid. He ignored that gut feeling and what did it get him? A pounding headache and regaining years worth of memories that were better left forgotten. </p>
<p>
  <em>Prince Dymitri Peg'asi. The eleventh child of King Fenris. The last living member of the Royal Family. The only sheep that had escaped the slaughter. </em>
</p>
<p>Dymitri grits his teeth, sweat dripping down from his brow. His body is starting to tire, fists aching in protest with each new punch he throws against the hard leather bag. How long has he been at this? Hours now it felt like but he doesn’t care. The pain is a welcome thing, and besides, it pales in comparison to the hollow ache in his gut.</p>
<p>He doesn’t miss most of his family. Dad was a vicious prick, his mother and the other Queens were no better, and most of his conversations with his various siblings were usually some variation of him telling them to fuck off. No, he didn’t mourn them. Good riddance, in fact. But he mourned Nerissa..</p>
<p>
  <em>Secret walks in the garden to see the blooming flowers when the servants were too busy to take him. Carefree laughter as she brushed aside her duties to play childish games for hours on end. A quick wink and gentle shushing as she brought him those sweet treats their mother disapproved of him eating so many of.</em>
</p>
<p>His vision starts to blur as his eyes sting with emotion but he doesn’t slow down, breath coming out in short huffs as he keeps sinking his fists into the worn leather. He pretends it’s his father’s face that he’s punching, or Zovack’s, or maybe Vexx. Fists wouldn’t hurt any of them near enough for his liking but anything else would be too quick, too efficient. He’d want to drag it out, to make them hurt like he was hurting. Like they’d hurt Nerissa.</p>
<p>
  <em>Nerissa, who always gave him those gentle smiles with honest love behind them that no one else ever had, who never laid a cruel or unwanted hand on him unlike so many others. Nerissa, who looked Dymitri in the eye and told him that he was truly worth something, that he was so much more than just the eleventh child of disinterested parents. She always said it with such affection and conviction that he even believed it, a small hope to cling to in his otherwise stifling, neglected life.</em>
</p>
<p>The bag sways back and forth on the thin chain, creaking in protest as his punches keep getting harder, become sloppier. He can’t see clearly, unshed tears burning in his eyes but he just keeps swinging. His shoes slip against the floor a little, arms starting to tremble from exertion each time he draws them back for another blow. </p>
<p>TING!</p>
<p>The sudden snap of the chain pulls Dymitri out of his thoughts. His last punch sends the leather bag flying across the room before it hits the floor with a dull thud. </p>
<p>For a few moments the cargo bay is quiet, aside from the sound of his labored breathing that he can barely hear over the rapid beat of his pulse against his ear drums, and the silence is broken by Dymitri letting out an annoyed huff.</p>
<p>“So much for that..” he mutters to himself, walking over to give the defeated bag a kick. A few droplets of sweat still bead on his forehead and he uses that as an excuse to brush his hands across his face, swiping at his eyes a few extra times for good measure.</p>
<p>
  <em>“Peg’asi men do not cry, ever!” Fenris glowers down at him as the nearby guards avert their gaze, doing nothing even as the harsh slap against Dymitri’s cheek just makes him cry even harder (because he’s a fucking child, what did Fenris think would happen?). His father just sneers at his sobs, hand raising again, and the only thing that stops the second strike from coming is the sound of Nerissa’s angry voice suddenly cutting through the air.</em>
</p>
<p>He glances down at his hands, blinking because he hadn’t expected to see blood seeping through the thin bandages wrapped around his fists. They don’t hurt much right now but the numbness in his hands will soon fade and give way to the pain. Good.</p>
<p>Dymitri tosses the bloodied bandages aside, already anticipating what Ryona might say when he eventually goes to her for some ointment for his split knuckles. It almost makes him smile, thinking of the stern look that the Tilaari medic would give him but just as quickly it fades away.</p>
<p>
  <em>“I should make you deal with this yourself.” Nerissa tsks at him, frowning in obvious disapproval, but her hands are still gentle as she dabs at the bloody scrapes along his knuckles with a damp rag. A quiet snort escapes him before he can stop himself and one of her brows arch upward, though a hint of a smile tugs at the corner of her lips. “I just hope whoever you hit this time at least deserved it, Dymi.” </em>
</p>
<p>Fuck, he wants to hit something again...</p>
<p>He leaves the fallen punching bag to be dealt with later. He wants to sleep, or at the very least curl up somewhere while he tries to chase the memories away again.</p>
<p>The walk back to his room is a short one. Dymitri keeps his gaze on the ground in front of him, counting how many scuffs and cracks he sees on the worn floor. He listens to the familiar hums and beeps of the ship around him, and trails a hand along the cold metal walls as he walks. It all grounds him, keeps his thoughts from the forefront of his mind because he can’t dwell on it right now. He can’t let that grief well up because he’s scared it will consume him.</p>
<p>Both his head and knuckles still hurt as he drops down into his bed, rolling over to turn his back to the door and closing his eyes with a heavy sigh. A shower would be ideal but there was no stopping a racing mind in a shower. Too risky. He wants to sleep. He wants to forget.</p>
<p>It doesn't feel fair; he'd found an unexpected sense of stability aboard the Andromeda Six. He’d finally started to find his feet amongst the crew, and considered most of them to be his friends now. Hell, even the Captain and Reznor were growing on him like a half-tolerable mold even with those sticks up their asses. Not to mention Aya, who looked at him in a way that made him feel warm and wanted like no one else ever had.</p>
<p>They’d become important to him, already providing a sense of purpose and camaraderie that the rest of the Peg’asi family never gave him, but right now it’s just not enough.</p>
<p>That should be enough, he <em>wants</em> it to be enough, but the aching hole is still there in his chest and it’s growing wider. His breath suddenly catches in his chest and Dymitri grits his teeth, tries to will away the sting returning to his eyes. It doesn't work, and Dymitri yanks his pillow out from beneath his head, using it to stifle the sound of the rough sobs that grief is ripping from his chest.</p>
<p>Nerissa was gone and without her, without the only sister who <em>ever</em> loved him, he's never felt more alone...</p>
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